being a teacher, being me

These Kids, Our Kids

She tells us that she is not smart.  That school is not a place she wants to go to because that’s where all the smart kids go.  The ones who can read.  The ones who can do things so much easier than her.

She shows us that she is trying.  That every word that sits in front of her is a mountain to be climbed, seemingly no matter how many times she has seen it before, the climb is still there.  The doubt is still there.  The wanting to give up, because “This so hard, Mommy..” and we tell her to sound it out, to try again, to see the letters, even as they move and squiggle and run away from her eyes as she tries once again.  Everything taking twice as long as her twin brother.  Everything coming at a price of time that seemingly no other child has to give up because to them it just comes easy.

So we search for answers, for teachers who see the girl before they see the problem, for others who like us, sit with a child where reading does not come easy.  Where reading is not a magical adventure but instead dreaded work that doesn’t bring happiness but only affirmation of her supposed lack of can.  And we get the doctors involved and they tell us their diagnosis and I cry in the meeting because wouldn’t it have been nice if it wasn’t a specific learning disorder but instead just something that hadn’t clicked?  Wouldn’t it have been nice if we had it all wrong and she had us all fooled?  Wouldn’t it have been nice?

So we sit down with our little girl, who really isn’t so little anymore, and tell her that we did get answers and as we thought it turns out her brain just learns differently.  That reading is, indeed, hard to figure out but not impossible.  That now that we know more, we can do more, we can get help, we can get support, and we can go in the right direction rather than searching in the dark hoping for something to help us.  We can tell she doesn’t believe us, not yet, anyway.

And as summer unfolds, we hope that having this time can give us the time we need to build her back up, not because anyone tore her down, but because this mountain of reading has been telling her for too long that she is not as good as she thought she was.  And once those whispers started they were awfully hard to drown out when the proof is right there in front of her on the page.

And I think of how the systems of school play into this self-evaluation.  How the grades and the labels so often harm.  How we, as educators, sometimes confuse good grades with dedication, as if a child who is failing a class isn’t dedicated?  As if all a child needs is to just work harder, or hard enough because then the learning will surely come, and how for some of our kids, that is simply not true.  That I can see my child work hard.  That I can see my child stay at the table longer.  That I can see my child give her best every single day.  That I can see my child get extra teaching, tutoring outside of school, and yet the results don’t come because it turns out that hard work doesn’t always equal results.

And these kids, our kids, who are behind are often the ones working the hardest if we really had to compare.

And these kids, our kids, who are behind are often the ones pulled out of recess and fun activities in order to go work more.

And these kids, our kids, who are behind are often the ones given fewer opportunity for choice because it turns out that when you need extra support we have to cut something out of your schedule.

And these kids, our kids, sit with the same kids year after year, traveling as a group because the only thing we have identified them by is their lack of ability.

And these kids, our kids notice.

And these kids, our kids, know it.

And these kids, our kids, feel it.

And these kids, our kids, slowly start to take on the new identities we have created for them in our data meetings, in our hallway conversations, in our quick meetups when we make our lists, where we make our groups, where we share the stories that we think define these kids.

And these kids, our kids, are honored for their efforts by being given new names; struggling readers, lower level learners, behind, and you wonder how they lose themselves in the process.

And you wonder why one day, despite our best intentions, they tell us that they don’t think they are smart and that they don’t want to go to school.

So as my family once again adjusts itself in our pursuit of learning for all.  As we celebrate the answers we have been given this week while nurturing the child who is at the center of it all, I ask you to please consider this.  My child, our daughter, is not a struggling reader, she is a reader.  Period.  To tell her otherwise would break her heart.

And so these kids, our kids, deserve to be fully spoken about, to be fully known.  For us to start a conversation asking how they see themselves and if it is through a negative lens we actively fight against that.  And we tell them we see their effort, we tell them we see their progress.  We tell them we see their smart, and we stop with the labels, and the assumptions, and we see the kid for who they are rather than what the data tells us.

Because this kid, my kid, doesn’t think that reading will ever be something she can do, and I need, she needs, everyone that works with her to believe otherwise and loudly, because my voice is not enough.


13 thoughts on “These Kids, Our Kids”

  1. Pernille, please get ahold of Lois Letchford’s book “Reversed.” It’s a story of a mother who was told by educators her kid was the worst they’d ever seen, and could never learn. He recently graduated with a doctorate from Oxford because she became his main teacher and advocate. See reviews on

  2. Oh! I don’t know you, but I do read your blog (often, mostly – sometimes – you know, when I can), and my heart has broken for you and your daughter once before. Today, I had to write because my son, too, has a diagnosis of a SLD and he has had difficulties learning to read. And I cried in the meeting, too. And I wanted to scream when teacher told us that he “needed to re-read his work” and “rushed” through things.
    I don’t know you, but I’d like to share two things that have happened to me since that diagnosis two years ago: 1) it’s gotten a little better. He reads now – slowly but happily. And I am becoming practiced at speaking with his teachers. And 2) I am terribly, deeply, completely and fully aware of my students who don’t fit the mold. I thought I was aware of them before, but I am so much better now. Keep going – not like you have a choice – and know that this will change you and her and maybe even some of her teachers. I am incredibly grateful that you have this blog and that your voice might help others pause & think as they teach. (My blog is awfully little, but I know one or two people have heard some of my pleas – just imagine what you can do.) Best of luck to you, your daughter, your family… and all the teachers.

    1. Just googled NRSI. Thank you! Will look into the colored overlays. Have they worked for you? To start inexpensively, would you buy your child’s favorite color or several and test them out?

      1. I actually found a set on eBay for only $15. My son said they helped . He still doesn’t like reading. I think we need to experiment more with the colors.

      2. Coloured lens are not supported by any science, you need explicit systematic instruction to reading and LOTS of repetition. Some schools are changing there approaches, but we have had to find a MSL (multisensory structured literacy) tutor for our son. Until his schooling is completely onboard his ability to read will take time. He’s come a long way and the gap isn’t getting greater at least, which is often the case.

  3. Reading your blog has stirred me greatly. I am changed. New school year….changed administrator.

  4. “These kids, our kids” as you are calling them need structured literacy instruction-explicit, systematic and cumulative, multi-modal and LOTS of practice!!! I hope you will use your platform to make sure all kids have this opportunity in their classrooms. It starts with teacher education. Teachers need to know how our brains learn to read, and teach accordingly. Your daughter will learn with good instruction. It won’t be easy, and you will have to make sure she has teachers who know about the science of learning to read! “These kids, our kids, ALL kids” deserve this!!

    1. Absolutely! My son is also SLD and we were lucky to discover our MSL tutor as it is evidence based research into how children learn to read. There is a lot of snake oils out there, if you join the DSV (Dyslexia Support Victoria) group it is very educational. Good luck, it sure is a long and challenging journey!

  5. Please take a deep breath. I couldn’t learn how to read until Grade 2. It just didn’t click. I had no learning disorder…It just took me longer. I learned quickly how to know by heart the texts without knowing the words until one day the teacher discovered. I am now a scholar and based at the University. This is a long journey. The most important thing we have to teach our kids is curiosity and joy in exploring the world. The rest will come at a different pace for each of our kids.

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